


whenever i'm alone with you / you make me feel like i am home again

by The_North_Star



Series: Ruthari Week 2020 (Round 2, Baby!) [3]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Amputee Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Domestic Fluff, HUSBANDS!, M/M, Magical Prosthetic, anyways here's another very late installment, but nooo in my household i'm little more than a servant to my mother, i'm not too sure what else there is to tag, mention of amputation, oh well, you would think I would've updated and shit over the weekend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25258708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_North_Star/pseuds/The_North_Star
Summary: Written for Ruthari Week 2020 (Round 2, baby!)prompt: 10th--->Domestic<--- | Ranks{Runaan reaches up and, for the first time in a long, long while, cradles Ethari’s face in both his hands.“How? Because of you.”}Another Amputee!Runaan minific. that's actually a solid tag here on AO3. fascinating. guess everyone really likes the storytelling potential found in our favorite stabby moon elf losing an arm, amongst other things.Just a stab at Runaan actually knowing a few domestic skills.partially because he's a Taurus, and almost every single Taurus I've known has prided themselves on being excellent cooks or tailors, and not being complete useless scrubs with the housework. And also because its in his nature, I feel, to know practical skills and use them to help his loved ones.  a little more in the notes!
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince)
Series: Ruthari Week 2020 (Round 2, Baby!) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824304
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	whenever i'm alone with you / you make me feel like i am home again

Between the two of them, Ethari is the better cook/chef/culinary expert, and his meticulous, yet artistic, slow approach to making drinks is unparalleled.   
  
There probably is someone who could make kaf or tea better. Runaan doesn’t want nor care to meet them.  
  
Ethari has not woken up yet, somewhat unusual for the early riser blacksmith, but this isn’t their usual situation.  
  
For one, they have been traveling with a legion of both elves and humans up against the forces of Archmage Aaravos. The relative ease, or at least camaderie everyone seems to have with one another was a shock to Runaan, and it had taken him some time to simply accustom himself with just Rayla and her relationship with the human prince.  
  
He has seen them hold hands.He isn’t a fool.  
  
And he himself has barely adjusted to _everything_.  
  
For another, Ethari didn’t need an excuse to sleep in. Ever. Runaan was, and still is, more than happy to accommodate his husband.By the Moon, he’s been the one to beg him to come to bed sometimes, even carrying him when he’s fallen asleep at his worktable.  
  
But Ethari has good reason this time. Namely, having been tortured and forced by Dark Magic users to forge weapons for their forces until a team, cobbled together by both races, went to rescue him and many others.  
  
Led by General Amaya. The scourge of the Breach, one of the most feared of human generals. The sister-in-law to the king he killed, the last adult relative of now King Ezran of Katolis and Prince Callum, the human cavorting with Rayla.  
  
And the thrice-cursed human who saved his life by severing his left arm off.  
  
He would never admit it verbally, but an infection that resulted from the constricting oath-binding would’ve killed him and permanently widowed Ethari.  
  
All this sudden, intense change exhausted him, and this is after the difficult divide between him and Rayla. Between him and Ethari also.  
  
Runaan is also, unfortunately, personally indebted to King Ezran for ordering a separate tent and supplies for him and his husband.He has a feeling Rayla had a hand in that.  
  
And essentially forgiving him for murdering his father. Part of that still feels like a fever dream to him.  
  
But the largest of his debts is to Ethari. His beautiful, clever, stubborn husband had eschewed the advice of rest from the healers, throwing himself and his sleep time into a truly magical feat.  
  
He’s anxious and unhappy, muttering about how rough the end result is, but Runaan only feels gratitude for the prosthetic arm to replace the one he lost.  
  
A marvel of silver plating, steel and iron workings, varnished hawthorn wood, and scales gifted by _Regina Draconis_ Zubeia herself, gleaming dark blue in the elbow and wrist joints.Ethari told him it still needs some very minor tweaking, but it could and probably should be tested.   
  
And test it he shall.  
  
He looks out towards the campfire, where King Ezran and the human baker are conversing. On one of the smaller fire pits is a large pot that he knows is filled with boiling water. He wants to fill the ewer allotted to him and his husband so he can make some tea before they continue with their day.  
  
Two hands, one pot.And no people, seeing the baker leave with the child King and his little froglike pet.  
  
Taking the ewer, weighing and straining nothing in the prosthetic, he gradually sneaks his way amongst other tents and a few people in order to get as close to the pot as possible. The large pot sports a ladle used to scoop water out.  
  
“Thank the Moon.”  
  
No one is near the fire, so he approaches it. The lid also weighs next to nothing.A sigh of relief.  
  
He reaches for the ewer to fill it and manages to ladle in a few scoops of water.  
  
Until a sudden sear of heat forces him to drop the ladle into the pot with a splash and a tinny clang.  
  
Damn. The arm.  
  
Metal is a strong, versatile element, but also a known heat conductor.  
  
Had he not felt it soon enough, the heat would’ve certainly traveled to the stump of his left arm and burned him, as well as not faded away and therefore prolonging any pain.  
  
A vital caveat to note. Grabbing a dry towel on a nearby rock, he wraps the end of the ladle not submerged in hot water, switches hands, and in much less time he’s filled the ewer and carefully makes his way back to his tent.  
  
A traveling tin of tea gifted by now-queen Janai is opened, a generous scoop of tea disappears beneath the water, and he sets it aside with a small plate on top to trap the steam.  
  
Ethari, amazingly, still sleeps. Even after all he’s endured, he sleeps so soundly and peacefully.   
  
He has the most handsome face in all existence.  
  
Runaan gently takes the small bundle of clothing near their packs.Some of his free time not spent conditioning, training, or meditating was spent tediously relearning how to do everything one-handed, such as repairing any rips in their clothing.  
  
And Rayla’s.  
  
Another smaller bundle containing sewing supplies is laid out, and he gets to work stitching the tears in Rayla’s green tunic.   
  
He taught her how to sew, an important skill to have for both maintaining clothing and closing up wounds on the body.He thinks on all he’s taught her, and then sees the reality of some of those lessons proving him wrong.  
  
Specifically about humans.   
  
A surprising benefit of a metal arm is a metal-wood hand, and he has not felt any of the stabs the needle has taken into his fingers.He has just finished stitching up the last of the rips in the tunic when he feels arms, thick and strong and warm, embrace him.  
  
“Beloved.”  
  
A kiss to the back of his neck. He turns and presses a kiss into the aquiline nose and upon the closed eyelids of his husband.  
  
“I take you’ve slept well, moonlight. I just repaired Rayla’s tunic, and also got some tea steeping.”  
  
His eyes spring open.  
  
“Oh? But how---?”  
  
Runaan reaches up and, for the first time in a long, long while, cradles Ethari’s face in both his hands.  
  
“How? Because of you.”  
  
In the muted light coming from outside their tent, his husband’s eyes are wide, golden pools.Weathered crafter’s hands shake as they grip his mismatched set.  
  
“I---oh, Ru---but---but---but the prototype hasn’t been tested---”  
  
“---I tested it. Just now. I fixed the prosthetic onto my arm stump as your written instructions stated. I washed our soiled clothing, repaired Rayla’s tunic, fetched some water from the boiling pot near the kitchen pit.”  
  
He runs the polished wooden tip of his new thumb over a briar-painted cheekbone, down his regal nose, resting upon his lips.  
  
“It works wonderfully.”  
  
Ethari is stunned, mouth moving but not saying anything.  
  
Runaan chances a glance at the hot ewer, still steeping their tea, letting his mind meander until he has an idea.  
  
“Love? Can this arm carry as much as its predecessor, or am I limited to how much can be carried on my left side?”  
  
“Well---it should. It should carry as much as your original arm, but I still wouldn’t do any particularly heavy lifting with that arm just yet.”  
  
“What would happen if the load was too heavy?The prosthetic would simply fall off?”  
  
“Well...yes. At the most. I hope. Honestly, I’m not too sure.”  
  
He folds Rayla’s tunic and lays it next to the ewer.  
  
“Let us find out.”  
  
Both arms encircle Ethari before he can even ask what he means.   
  
Up into the air, right over his shoulder he goes, and although the healers have also told him not to strain himself, Runaan cannot help but feel powerful.  
  
“Runaan! Put me down, I’m too heavy!”  
  
“Not for me, you aren’t.”  
  
“For the arm, love!”  
  
He allows himself a chuckle in response.  
  
“You said this prosthetic needs to be tested.And you know how thorough of an elf I am. I’m going to carry you out and back into the tent.”  
  
“ **Runaan**!”  
  
Light spills into the tent as he carries his husband out.  
  
His spirits are lifted for the first time in months.  
  
 _END_  



End file.
